Sheri's Story...Never Give up hope

For my dear friend Janis, who encouraged me to write our story, and all those embarking on an adoption journey

Know that thoughts of giving up are part of the adoption journey. I wanted to many times. Know that you will go through every emotion a heart can endure. I remember looking at my husband and feeling crushed with guilt. I could not give him another child. I remember looking at my daughter and loathing my body for not being able to give her a sibling. Adoption will come to mean far more than getting a baby. The process of adoption will challenge your strength and faith.

Recently, a family member said to me that she had never known anyone as obsessed with trying to find or have a baby as I had been. I felt hurt by her choice of words. Adoptive moms need not be described as obsessive. We must be determined. We must have faith.

I have found it hard to talk about adoption with just anybody. I end up doing more explaining than conversing. The day I found the Expecting to Adopt message board was the day I found my best friends. My love is with all of you. You are my true means of support -- the lifeline that enabled me to get through this journey and find Emily.

Our adoption journey began almost two years ago, when I learned that I could no longer conceive. Although devastated, I felt determined to have more children and began searching for a reputable adoption facilitator. In retrospect, I may have been naive and hasty, but at the time I felt hopeful and confident; after a one-on-one meeting with our facilitator, I felt that the process of finding a baby was truly under way. The next step required creating a "Dear Birth Mother" portfolio letter, one of the hardest writing tasks I can imagine. Night after night I would lie awake wondering whether I had described our family in the best possible way. Maybe I should not have mentioned our pony and three dogs. Might the animals scare her: Would she imagine the dogs eating the baby? Or Susie, our little wiener dog, smothering the baby with kisses? Might she imagine that someday her child would be thrown off the pony and die? Are these silly thoughts? Not to an adopting mom.

To be absolutely certain we would not miss an adoption-related phone call, we covered all bases and got caller I.D., call waiting, a cell phone and a pager. And our answering machine let callers know: "If you're not a pregnant birth mother, don't waste the tape."

Birth Mother One:
The Money Connection
Our first call came from a young girl who wanted to place her unborn son. A meeting was arranged for the following week. Although our facilitator was aware of our financial limitations, we were being introduced to a high-expense birth mother. I dug into our savings account, trying to accommodate demands. After we met our pregnant birth mom, her aunt began to harass us with phone calls for more and more money. I began to feel as if I was buying this baby. Sadly we decided to back out. This baby was then promised to another adoptive couple; they made the payments. When the mother went into labor, they were notified. The couple rushed to the hospital only to learn the mother had changed her mind. I have since become friends with this adoptive mom; she is still waiting.

Birth Mother Two:
The Empty Connection
Our second experience with a pregnant birth mom lasted about two months. Again, we met financial demands. Intuitively I felt something was not right and became my own private detective. I discovered that this girl was not even pregnant! I was totally shocked!. This was not how I thought adoption would be. I was beginning to get discouraged, not to mention a little embarrassed. I'd told everybody, including the postman, about my pregnant birth mother. I couldn't keep it a secret. When you're pregnant you tell everyone, right?
By now, our adoption facilitator was looking rather unprofessional. My husband felt we had been scammed and was dead set on getting an attorney. I begged him not to, as I still believed this was our only way of getting a baby.

Birth Mother Three: The Mystery
This time felt for real. She wanted no contact, and we agreed. Two months later we got the call to come to the hospital; the mother had gone into labor, and our baby would soon be delivered. We arrived and waited in the lobby for hours, receiving updates regularly from the nurses. When the hospital social worker approached us with instructions to call our facilitator, my heart sank. I could barely hold the phone, I was shaking so. Then the voice on the other end told me that indeed, yes, the mother had changed her mind. She had decided to place our baby with Social Services. We were stunned. Our attorney came to the hospital to talk with her, but it did no good. A clergyman spoke with us, and we prayed. As I opened my eyes, I saw my husband of 10 years crying for the second time in our life together.

When we arrived home, I basically went into seclusion. I felt shocked, heartbroken and humiliated. I had no way of explaining to myself what had happened, let alone to the rest of the world.

Birth Mother Four: J and Justin
We heard from our facilitator late one evening and were put in touch with "J" that same night. J was 18 years old and married with two small children. This baby was not conceived with her husband, which was why she was making an adoption plan. She had no prenatal care and was hiding the pregnancy from everyone except her husband.

A few weeks later I had arranged for her to see a doctor, and while she was in the doctor's office I received her frantic call. I had to hurry to the hospital, because she had gone into labor! Just my luck, I was lathered down with hair color.

The first time we actually met J was in the hospital. She had already given birth to a baby boy. We named him Justin. We were told he was having some problems breathing and that his little face was bruised from the fast delivery. The nurses took us to the infant intensive care unit. As we walked toward him I thought, Oh my God, oh my God! I placed my hand on his little tummy in a daze of disbelief: I am actually touching a baby. Would he really be mine? I stayed with him through the night, running back and forth to spend time with J also.

By morning the doctors had determined that Justin had No Will to Thrive Syndrome, which basically means that he would not eat. Well, that's all I needed to hear: My mommy-will-make-things-all-better instinct took over.

When J left the hospital, she placed Justin in my daughter's arms, saying, "This is your little brother." Hannah took these words to heart.

We were able to bring Justin home four days later. I stayed up all night standing guard with him, fearing that something might happen if I closed my eyes. The next morning, I took Hannah to school and returned home to my first day of being a new mommy. The phone rang; it was my husband. In a concerned and caring way he said, "I am on my way home to you. She wants him back."

The phone dropped from my hands as I wailed, "Nooo!" At that moment my parents pulled into the driveway. Inside they found me backed into a corner crying, "She wants him back." I'll never forget the look on their faces. They saw a side of me that tore them apart. My mother kept repeating, "Give me the baby. You are hurting him." I wasn't hurting him; I was holding onto him with all my love, not wanting to give him back. I thought he was mine. My father finally screamed at me, and that's when the reality of the situation completely hit me. My father said, "It is her baby, and you are going to have to give him back." Helplessly I responded, "But I can't; he is mine."

Steve arrived, and we each spent time alone with Justin. J was on her way to our house to pick up her son. I remember sitting with Justin, holding his little hands, knowing I would never hold them again, a part of me giving up. J arrived and took Justin without saying one word to me; she just glared angrily. Her husband walked over in tears, hugged me and said how sorry he was that this had happened.

The pain I felt that day was so unlike anything I had felt before; a part of me died. Dealing with my daughter's subsequent pain was even more devastating.

When the moment came to pick up Hannah from school, I was close to a breakdown. I feared how she would handle this. She was so happy to have Justin. Just eight years old, she truly believed Justin was her baby brother.

Steve told her the bad news on their way home from school. I could see the disbelief on her sweet little face. I thought, "Oh my dear God, what have I done to her? How could I ever forgive myself?" As the night wore on, I saw my little girl express her pain in the most heart-wrenching ways. My dear Hannah, she never even got to say good-bye; he was just gone. She wouldn't go to school or church. Her grades dropped from As to Ds. This had truly broken her heart. It killed me to see her suffer. I couldn't make it better. Moms are supposed to make things all better, but I couldn't make anything better this time.

My husband reacted with determination: He would take over and find us a baby, and that would heal us all. He worked with our facilitator. I stood back, knowing he wouldn't survive. He was a beginner, and I was the trained one with so many battle wounds I'd stopped counting. Of course, as I suspected, he didn't last long.

Birth Mother Five: DNA
Months went by before I received another call. I told only my husband and online friends. A couple of days later I received another call to go to the hospital. This situation involved a 26-year-old married mother of three. She had made an adoption plan for her baby because it was not her husband's child. Now, does that not sound familiar? Everything about this was familiar. Even the words this girl used reminded me of J. To top it off, she was at the same hospital. At the time I felt that this baby would be mine and that what happened before had been God's way of preparing me.

Now I believe God was really asking me to consider an important question: Just how many times are you going to step in the same hole, Sheri?

The mother gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, who appeared to be Caucasian, although he was one-eighth African-American. The birth mother and her husband are Caucasian. The husband was shocked by the baby's skin tone and insisted on a DNA test. His wife had confided to him that her affair had been with a biracial man. The husband had assumed that the darker skin genes would dominate. I wanted to know why I kept finding myself in these situations.

Why was it so hard to adopt? If the baby had a darker skin tone, I know he would have come home with us. Instead, the couple decided to take the baby home and wait for the DNA test results. Over the following three weeks, the birth mother and I stayed in constant contact. She repeatedly reassured me that the baby could not be her husband's and that they absolutely would not keep him. I trusted her. My love and hopes grew with each passing moment.

In the end the couple decided to keep the baby, despite the DNA results.

Did I give up then? No, I got mad -- and it was about time.

Aside from getting mad, I also realized I needed help. I had fallen into a deep dark depression. My doctor put me on medication, and I decided to step back and rethink everything. This whole adoption process had me spinning, and I had lost myself. We wrote our facilitator a letter stating that we no longer needed his services. We were officially taking a break.

We found, however, that we could not psychologically just stop cold turkey. So we decided that in a couple of months we would take Model Approach to Partnership in Parenting (MAPP ) classes and try to adopt through the state. At that point we were broke and had no choice. We still didn't have our child. I was not giving up; I just needed to give in for a while. The thought of MAPP classes soon was just enough to keep me in the "I'm still going to have a child" mode.

Closer to God
I spent time reading and posting on message boards, but the most important thing I did was get closer to God. I had left him out. I had posted each of our failed adoption experiences, and each time a very special woman replied by praying openly online and reaching out to me. I believe she does this for everyone, but I felt drawn to her wisdom and wanted to hear more. If it were not for Karen, whom I met on the AOL Expecting to Adopt board, I would not be where I am now. She helped lead me, though we sat at our separate computers thousands of miles apart, back to God.

During my time off from the adoption search, I went back to church. I started reading my Bible. I hoped to make sense out of what had happened. As I became stronger, I wanted to learn more. I went to church whenever the doors were opened. I asked questions, and I sought answers. I told myself that in every word the pastor preached and in every moment I spent in the church pew a lesson was intended for me.

For months my determination focused on becoming a Christian, rather than adoption, and learning how to willfully turn everything over to God. For the first time in a long time, I felt happiness. I accepted my failures as lessons on the path to spirituality. I began to feel peace. A quote struck me at the time and stays with me today: "He was right there all the time, waiting patiently in line."

Finding Emily
I believe I found Emily through finding God first.

My special online friend Dina, whom I also met on the Expecting to Adopt board, sent me the Full Circle Adoptions Website about Emily. I owe Dina truckloads of gratitude.

At the site, Emily's birth mother admitted to heavy drug use. Otherwise she was identified only as a number on a Web page. Would this child be a crack baby? It seemed as if no one wanted her, and so she was placed on the Internet. My family and friends thought I had lost my mind when I contacted this agency and asked them to send our Dear Birth Mother letter for Emily. Why? Well, if you are planning on adopting, chances are that you'd like the baby to be healthy, right? My experience in prayer allowed me to move forward. I was no longer alone. I felt that God was with me on this path.

The agency urged me to research infant drug exposure and to contact our own pediatrician for more information. I did do the research, and it did not scare me away. If anything, I wanted this baby more. I was willing to take this leap of faith. This poor baby; how could no one want her? I knew with all my heart and soul that this was my baby. She needed me; she needed us. We wanted her to be a part of our family.

As we waited for a decision from this birth mother, I prayed. I realized it's okay to get down on my knees and pray out loud with all my heart. This experience was my first real awakening. God was working within me.

Then the news came: She chose us! This happened the day before we were scheduled to begin MAPP classes. We never went; there was no need. Isn't it strange how that happened?

Walking through the Nitty-Gritty

By now, the fact that I had become adoption-savvy meant everything. Our financial state was still precarious. Translation: We were broke. The list of adoption-related expenses went on and on. We had taken out two loans, borrowed from my husband's 401(k) account and gone through $6,000.

I knew there was a way I could make this work. I discovered that the agency placing Emily had a policy of charging significantly less than their usual fees to families who earn a modest income or who already incurred financial losses owing to the adoption process. Also, certain fees are waived when the child is considered harder to place as a special-needs baby because of exposure to a birth mother's drug or alcohol use.

We fit every profile. We had to traverse some shaky ground in dealing with the birth father, but eventually the agency and I came to an agreement. The experience of the past, all my heartbreaking lessons, had armed me with knowledge.

The last phase of the adoption journey, bonding with Emily's birth mother, came as a surprise and, in a way, the beginning of a new journey. Our bond is a cherished wonder

Emily was born on April 1, 2000. She is a six-pound, five-ounce blessing from above. Cuddled in my arms is a very healthy Emily, my long-awaited child, Hannah's little sister and the second daughter I could never even have dreamed of giving my husband.

So when you feel like giving up or that your wait seems endless, remember Emily.

To Emily's Birth Mother:
You are far more than a number on a page; you are my shining star; you are a pure heart of gold. We love you.

For each kiss I give Emily, I will kiss her twice for you ... always.

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